


Tempting Fate

by justlikedaylightsavingstime



Series: Supernatural Pairing Bingo [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Atropos has Crowley wrapped round her little finger, Crowley trying to find out about the consequences of the Mark of Cain, Crowley's pov, Demon Deals, F/M, I think it's canon compliant, I'm really sorry for the puns, and I suck at present tense, and he doesn't even know it, they are absolutely terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:33:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikedaylightsavingstime/pseuds/justlikedaylightsavingstime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley is desperate for Atropos’ help, eventually managing to catch up with her. But how far can you tempt fate before you get burnt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempting Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Tempting Fate  
> Pairing: Crowley/Atropos  
> Type: Kind of romantic. More of a business deal.  
> Rating: G/PG  
> Word Count: 1,610  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any related character.  
> Summary: Crowley is desperate for Atropos’ help, eventually managing to catch up with her. But how far can you tempt fate before you get burnt?  
> Warnings: Bad puns on ‘fate’. Really bad puns.
> 
> As always feedback/criticism/comments/requests/prompts are extremely welcome.

Written for the [2014 spn pairing bingo](http://spnpairingbingo.livejournal.com/).  
You can also read this on my [LJ account](http://roastspud.livejournal.com/7286.html).

***

The minute he finds her, all thoughts of his carefully laid plan flee from his rather gorgeous (even if he does say so himself) head. He’s been searching for almost a month. Following leads, half-leads, non-existent leads. And every single time he has turned up bugger all. To be fair, that’s what he gets for chasing after a creature who can sense his every move before he makes it. He’s had no chance of finding her until now. You don’t find a fate unless they want to be found. And for some reason this is the state that she’s decided to present to him. That of an inebriated reprobate. Crowley sniffs distastefully.

The thing about pagan deities is that whilst they can imbibe copious amounts of the devil’s nectar without it having any damaging physical effects, they are still heavily susceptible to the emotional and mental effects. This tends to result in a complete level of intoxication that humans can’t get close to, even after centuries of trying (if Crowley has to listen to another one of Bacchus’ stories about waking up naked next to a sheep again then he is going to have to slip some poisonous berries into his infamous wine), hence pagan deities’ image as sinners, heathens and drunkards.

This does tend to make pagan parties rather memorable, but Crowley rarely seeks to break from his more civilised pursuits. Like turning Dean into his personal blood-monkey. And to make sure that goes according to plan, he needs to see precisely what effects the Mark of Cain will have on his little squirrel. And up until this point the inflexible librarian-wannabe has been less than helpful, running away and generally avoiding him. But right now she seems to have decided to give up the chase, obviously offering an invitation to meet just by the way she’d allowed Crowley to find her.

But the last thing he expects when he walks into the bar is to see Ms-stick-up-her-butt quite so spectacularly past it. Well, work with what you got. Crowley is never one to turn down a wonderful opportunity. And she is obviously desperate to initiate some kind of negotiation. And negotiations are what the King of Hell does best.

As soon as Atropos registers his presence she shouts out with an obnoxiously loud tone, immediately making Crowley’s hackles rise. “Creepy Crawley. What cruel twist of fate brings you here?”

Crowley just manages to avoid rolling his eyes at the terrible ‘joke’ and the accompanying cackle. Under other circumstances he might find the finger pointing and drunken squint quite amusing, but he’s nothing if not focused and ‘Creepy Crawley’ isn’t one of his favourite nicknames. “You’re meant to be trying to find me. Silly Crawly, shoo. Shoo.”

Nobody shoos the King of Hell, and it takes a tremendous amount of self-control to hold back his true eyes. He’ll just have to make a note to rectify that particular slight later, after he gets what he wants. With painstaking care and oodles of charm he carefully picks out his reply. “But where would be the fun in that?

Her replying snort is anything less than graceful as her mind wanders onto other (much less appealing) things. “You have such a squishy little face!”

Crowley manages to put up with having his cheeks squidged for approximately 0.02 seconds before he pulls Atropos’ hand from his face. Attempting to rectify the abruptness of the action, he plasters one of his most jovial, and therefore fake, grins across his face. “Atty, come on, help an old friend out won’t you. You know what I want, and…”

“I’m not Atty.” The childish petulant pout on her face is nothing short of pathetic. This is definitely not the Atropos he knew. The pernickety, frigid control freak who held the strings of the universe. This Atropos is a complete and utter mess, and alcohol is only a part of the problem. And there he’d been thinking that Castiel was the one with the daddy-issues.

“Fine Atropos.”

“Nope!”

“Morta?” He can barely keep the impatience from leaking into his voice. If he never meets another drunken deity again it will be too soon.

“Better.”

“Okay Morta, and may I say that I am loving the new look. Lucky for you librarian chic is very a la mode right now.” He lets his eyes sway over the thick black glasses, and the rather generic white blouse, grey vest, tweed jacket and dress pants. It wasn’t exactly glamorous but he could totally see why she picked it. It suited the usual non-drunk Atropos down to a boring T, and doesn’t look completely terrible. “Although having seen paintings of your Greek gear, I can’t help but think you’d look a little more…imposing…in a toga.”

A wistful sigh is huffed out by Atropos. “Me too. In fact those were good times. Back when Hades was in charge of hell, now he knew how to treat a lady.” She flashes him a disdainful glance. “Unlike your upstart generation of demons. Not that you’d understand.”

“I don’t know about that. I did see the Disney movie when it came out you know.” He smirks at her. “Anyway I didn’t come here to extoll the virtue of my predecessors. I came to provide a rather lucrative, mutually beneficial offer.”

“Well I didn’t think you’d come to buy me a drink, silly Creepy.” The challenging roll of her eyes only serves to enflame Crowley’s temper, which he is trying spectacularly hard to rein in. Particularly when she keeps using that retched nickname.

“Well in that case maybe you and I should take this somewhere a little more private!” At the barest hint of Crowley’s hand touching Atropos’ bicep, she snatches her arm away. Suddenly surprisingly lucid, she sends an impressively terrifying glare in his direction. She might be a drunken fate, but she’s still a fate at that. Crowley needs to be careful where he treads.

“I suggest you keep your hands to yourself Creepy. I have two older sisters who are just dying to get their hands on you.”

“Except you’re not exactly talking to them at the moment, are you? A little birdy tells me that you’re having a little existential crisis. That you’re no longer beholden to heaven’s tight reins.”

The little snort and stamp of Atropos’ foot show that his tactics are working. “Heaven is in chaos Crawley. You should know that better than anyone after that stunt you pulled! Not only did your little angel overlord screw you over, but he’s left the entire cosmos in chaos. None of us even know which way is up. And what is Heaven without control and organisation?”

Crowley doesn’t think he’d ever seen the fate so passionate and incensed. It really is quite attractive. Not to mention that in this terrified and inebriated state, the deity is much more available to his ministrations. No wonder she’s chosen tonight to meet up. If he plays this right he will have her just where he wants her. He’s got her to admit she’s struggling. Now it is time for some good old fashioned hitting the nail on the head.

“What can you tell me about Dean Winchester and the Mark of Cain?”

Some of the pomp drains out of her posturing, but she quickly recovers herself, returning to the drunken laughter she’d relied upon before. “Why Creepy, are you trying to tempt fate?”

Gritting his teeth at the nickname (and the horrible pun), Crowley smiles at her. As much as he loves vinegar, honey is going to be the only way here. “I suppose I am.”

She moves forward until they can both feel each other’s breaths against their faces. From this position she seems much more controlled, a glint in her eye that somehow doesn’t quite match her drunken exterior. “In that case these are my terms. I will tell you anything and everything you need to know about the Mark of Cain and Dean Winchester. I am also willing to consider occasionally working free-lance for you, depending on the situation. In return, if I tell you to do something based on my knowledge of the future then you will do it immediately, no questions asked, or it will not end prettily for you.”

Why does Crowley get the feeling that he’s been set up? Shaking it off, his eyes flick to the slightly swaying figure in front of him. He surveys her for a minute before nodding. He doesn’t like the idea of putting himself in Atropos’ hands, but at least she would have a vested interest in keeping him alive. And he can most definitely offer her the sense of purpose she is looking for. This could work out very well. Very well indeed.

“You still got your gold string baby?” She replies with a nod. “Well in that case, it appears we have a deal!”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Atropos’ lips captures his, earning a happy moan as the kiss deepens. Crowley has received more than his fair share of snogs over the centuries, and he has to admit that this is one of the better ones. Particularly when she thrusts her tongue into his mouth.

He smiles as she pulls away, leading him out of the bar. Her step is no longer unsure or off kilter. She marches forward, planting her feet firmly. Crowley’s too busy thinking of having a job well done to notice the firm grip of her hand and the pleased smirk dancing on her face. He has no idea that this particular agreement is bound to be ill-fated, very ill-fated indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is justlikedaylightsavingstime.tumblr.com, and I'm doing the whole follow for a follow back thing.


End file.
